


Dark Horse Rises

by borntomkehistory



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12908811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borntomkehistory/pseuds/borntomkehistory
Summary: Two years after suffering an injury at the Grand Prix Finals, Otabek is finally ready to return on the ice to make his comeback. Or so he thinks...Follow the journey Otabek takes to prove himself to his family, country, and most importantly Yuri. His best friend who is kind of dating someone else, not like Otabek is jealous or anything... His focus is on winning the gold medal at GPF's even if that means this could be his last time skating.





	Dark Horse Rises

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for clicking on my story. This is supposed to be a wacky adventure of Otabek's journey of proving himself to everyone while also lying to himself. 
> 
> I also know some of the skating terms I use may not be accurate. I'm doing as much research as possible while I'm writing this. 
> 
> Anyways, Enjoy!

  
_ The whole world is waiting for you...  _   
  


  
...   
  
  


_ "There has been quite a buzz about Otabek Altin's returning to the ice this year.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Returning? He's never left  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Don't flatter him too much. He's 20 and has yet to achieve a gold medal. His time is up.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Viktor Nikiforov has returned from his brief retirement at age 28, and he's still going strong.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Well, he's no Viktor Nikiforov. There is no saying whether or not he's going to take another nasty fall.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Let us all hope not, for his dignity and for our sake..."  _ _  
_   
"Oi, did you hear me?"    
  
Otabek blinked, hearing the sounds of the outside world rush into his ears. Up, he saw Yuri Plisetsky holding one of his earbuds in his hand, his face screwed up into an annoyed scowl.    
  
"No," Otabek flatly admitted, eyes following Yuri towards the seat in front of him.    
  
For a minute he forgot he was sitting in the middle of a cafe on a lunch date with his best friend. Embarrassed to be caught how he was, Otabek shoved his phone deep into his pocket, accepting the warm cup Yuri handed to him.    
  
"I said I got your tea, now that you’re back on the ice, it's better not to put that coffee shit in your body," Yuri took a sip of his own cup, watching Otabek carefully pick up his drink, An idiot could see there was something was on his mind. He always did this thing where his eyebrows would furrow and he just stares off into space.    
  
_ Tch, he's probably thinking about those dumbass critics, _ thought Yuri. His eyes trailed over to the street where pedestrians walked passed them. They were close, but Yuri will never be good at this comfort thing.    
  
"Look at them, they all look like idiots," He commented.    
  
His comment got a small chuckle out of Otabek who followed Yuri's gaze outside. He was grateful to be in Moscow to visit Yuri's old hometown. His grandpa was welcoming, and Otabek loved Moscow just as much as St. Petersburg, though there is something bittersweet about visiting a supposed rival as they both needed to train for the first round of the new skating season.    
  
Bringing the cup up to his lips, then softly blowing at the lid, he took a safe sip.    
  
Otabek loved being around Yuri either way.   
  
"Is it good? I got us the same thing."    
  
Yuri was now watching him.    
  
"Yeah, it's good. What flavor is this?"   
  
"Ginger peach."    
  
Otabek nodded, "I like it," then another silence washed over them. The silences were never awkward, rather comfortable. They both had a way of communicating without using words.    
  
Tapping his foot repeatedly on the tile flooring, Otabek thought about the potential beat of his free program. With less than three months left until the first round, he was behind. Prior, Yuri told him Lilia would be happy to assist him in choosing a song for his program, but Otabek had to decline the kind offer. Nothing against Lilia, it was just that he preferred to choose his own songs, Lilia was more traditional.    
  
This was his chance to redeem himself after his injury. He was so close to winning gold at the Grand Prix Finals two years ago he could taste it. With endless support from his fans, family, country, and Yuri the medal was his. Both his programs were excellent, a bitter surprise to the moderators and judges who gave him the label as the skating dark horse. However, his luck ran out when he took a bad landing, twisting his knee to the point where it was impossible for him to go on.    
  
Later Katsuki Yuuri took home the gold medal, with Viktor taking silver and Yuri bronze. With no way of properly scoring Otabek’s program, he had to be disqualified and quickly escorted to medical. When he came through, Viktor told him Yuri was worried sick, fumbling on all his jumps and just barely touching the podium.    
  
Otabek had to do better this year. Not only for his own pride, but he had to make his country proud of him and Yuri.    
  
He snuck a glance in Yuri’s direction, the Russian was preoccupied on his phone. After this year, Yuri would no longer look at him with sympathy in his eyes.    
  
“Shit.” He swore.    
  
“Is everything alright?”    
  
“Yeah, it's just. Fuck, this is awkward. I’m not going to be at the rink tonight, I’m going out.”    
  
Yuri bit his lip, quickly typing back to what looks like a response to whoever he was talking to. He had a torn look on his face.    
  
“Yuri, it’s fine. I’ll just go by myself. Probably practice a few jumps,” shrugging, he held the cup between both hands.    
  
“I can cancel. It’s not a big deal...”    
  
“Go. I will be fine.”    
  
Yuri tried to hide the disappointment on his face. Deep down he wanted Otabek to beg him to stay with him, “Okay,” he said. Sending another quick text.    
  
“How is he?”    
  
Pale flesh now tinted with pink, “it’s nothing serious. We’re just friends,” snapping like a Venus flytrap, Otabek lips were graced with a smile.    
  
“Use protection. I have condoms in my suitcase.”    
  
Pink now a deep cherry red, Yuri threw his head in his hands. Even at 18 anything involving sex was too embarrassing. This was about as bad as when Viktor tries to give him the sex talk by demonstrating on a teddy bear.    
  
Practically screeching in his hands with a mutter of profanities, he raised his head with tinted red now fading.    
  
“Why the fuck do you carry condoms with you?”    
  
Shrugging in his nonchalant way, “did you not learn about condoms in Sex Ed?” Forging innocence, Otabek took a sadistic pleasure in embarrassing his friend.    
  
“Fuck you.”   
  
“I have condoms for that.”    
  
For the second time, Yuri screamed into his arms. He did not give a shit if he was causing a scene.    
  
“Fuck off, Altin,” Voice muffled and refusing to entertain the Kazakh any longer.    
  
With a smirk on Otabek’s lips, he knew he won this conversation.    
  
  


...   
  
  


Later that day when the sky was transitioning from day to night, Otabek was able to get the rink to himself for a few hours.    
  
A rather attractive woman worked out front. With a bit a flirting and a false promise to go on a date, she pulled some strings to let him skate, willing to take the heat from her boss.    
  
A sloppily written number on a crumbled piece of paper, and a goofy grin later, here he was. Tying the laces on his skates tight enough so they would not come loose. He also equipped his black gloves so his palms would not get scratched up from any falls.    
  
Confident enough to go onto the slippery surface, Otabek carefully stood on slightly wobbly knees. A full year off the ice was harder than it looked, not to mention the tightness he felt in his bad knee. The last thing Otabek wanted was his knee to buckle up when performing his jumps. So he took a few moments to stretch, making sure the bad knee was thoroughly loosened before stepping out in the rink.    
  
_ Buzz. Buzz. _ Phone vibrating from the new messages he has received. Otabek pressed the home button.    
  
_ Leo: Yo, Beks, are you still hiding out in Moscow?  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ don’t even answer that, I know you are.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Anyways, I’m heading to Moscow early, a couple of days before your competition. We need to hang.  _ _  
_   


Otabek rolled his eyes with his leg still partially stretched out behind him, he sent a quick response.    
  


  
_ Otabek: why are you telling me this now? _ _  
_   
  


His phone buzzed again.    
  


_ Leo: because if I ask you now you can’t say no. Also, JJ wants to come.  _ _  
_   
  


_ Otabek: I can’t stop him from coming out.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ I can also say no and just ignore your texts.  _ _  
_ _  
  
_

_ Leo: Cold, Altin. So cold. Anyways, I managed to get all three of us passes into that exclusive underground club which is why I’m coming early. Dicks out, get some pot, we’re partying before the season starts... ;) _ _  
_ _  
_

There was always an interior motive when it came to Leo, not that Otabek mind. When he trained in America and met him they hit it off almost immediately, even though Otabek was cold and standoffish at the beginning.    
  
  


_ Otabek: I can’t promise the pot.  _ _  
_   
  


_ Leo: don’t worry, I have it covered.  _ _  
  
_

  
_ Otabek: Leo, you can’t bring drugs through customs.  _   
  


  
_ Leo: DW, I know a guy... ;) see you soon! xoxo.  _   
  
Another roll of the eyes, Otabek placed the phone down face first. He was never one to smoke before or during the season, but with all the new added pressure to come back strong maybe letting loose with some recreational drugs would not be so bad.    
  
Speaking of which... Otabek removed his blade guards, laying them down on the edge while he took his perfectly balanced steps on the ice.    
  
To start off, he did a few turns just to get into the flow of things, allowing the blades to guide him across the icy surface.    
  
During his time off, Otabek missed this feeling more than anything. His time in Almaty was great because he was able to enjoy his family’s company, though something was always missing.    
  
Gaining momentum, he performed a lazy toe loop, carefully landing on the bad knee. Still stiff.    
  
Besides his DJing hobby, Ice skating had its way of triggering the dopamine in his brain, or whatever it was called. Human biology was not his best subject.    
  
This time a flip.    
  
In order to make a proper comeback, he was going to have to up his program. There was no way in hell he was going to lose the way he did when he lost to JJ in the GPF. If only he had more jumps to raise his programs difficulty.    
  
Wincing, Otabek slowed down promptly. His attempt at an axel did not fair too well with the bad knee. Nothing too painful, but this was his body’s way of telling him to slow down.    
  
He skated over to reach for his container of water. Sweat accumulating on his forehead even though the rink was at a comfortable temperature.    
  
_ Damn it, _ Otabek grimace. At this rate, his worthy comeback is as good as gone if his body keeps working against him. He had to make his country proud, even if it meant pushing his body beyond its limit.    
  
Even if it meant this season could possibly be his last. He at least wanted to end his career with a gold medal around his neck.    
  
With the newly formed dark cloud hovering his head, Otabek spent the remainder of his night practicing lighter techniques.    
  
  


...   
  
  


His phone rang on top of his nightstand. Otabek murmured inaudible words, cracking open his eyes to check the time.    
  
The flashing red numbers on the digital clock read:  _ 03:45.  _   
  
“Hello?” He groggily answered his phone, voice deep and lace with sleep.    
  
_ “You finally answered. Pick me up, I’m drunk and out of cash.”  _ _  
_   
Otabek reached over to turn on the lamp, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. This was not the first time Yuri called him late for an after party pick up, and a drunk Yuri was never a fun Yuri. He was the type of drunk in which the alcohol enhanced the negative aspects of his personality.    
  
“Aren’t you with Vitaly?”    
  
Vitaly, Yuri’s kind of boyfriend. Not like Otabek was jealous or anything. Vitaly was a pretty nice kid when he was sober, which was 6 times out of 10. Not like Otabek could talk because he definitely had his fair share of drunken nights.    
  
_ “I don’t know where he went... look, pick me up. I’m freezing my dick off and I can’t go back to grandpa like this.”  _ _  
_   
“How? I don’t have my bike. The shipment was delayed.”    
  
He heard Yuri slur out profanities in his native tongue. Otabek translated them perfectly.    
  
_ “You’re being a bad friend, Beka. I’m cold and hungry... did I mention drunk?”  _ _  
_ _  
_ Otabek sighed, much too tired to deal with this.    
  
“I can call you a cab. The door will be unlocked, just try not to cause havoc on your way here.”    
  
_ “Thanks, Beks! Also, no promises...”  _ _  
_   
The young Russian hung up, Otabek already arranging the cab. Once taken care of he fell back on the bed with his hands extended across the sheets like a starfish.    
  
What has he gotten himself into?    
  
  
No less than 20 minutes later,    
  
“Otabek! Open the fucking door! Oh, wait.”    
  
Yuri stumbled in, nearly knocking over the nearby lamp.    
  
Otabek entered with a fresh set of pajamas in his hands, and his emergency “ _ Yuri is drunk out of his mind and needs something to wear for tomorrow”  _ clothes resting on the dresser for when he sobered up.    
  
“Otabek! You should have been there,” Yuri fell onto the couch, legs up on the top of the cushioned love sweat, “Vitaly took like 20 shots.”    
  
Otabek placed a chilled water bottle on the coffee table, listening to Yuri’s storytelling with open ears. Vitaly was a nice kid, but somehow Otabek felt uneasy with how irresponsible he could be, especially with another equally as irresponsible person like Yuri. Anyone would know not to leave a friend drunk and by themselves in a club.    
  
“Speaking of which, where is Vitaly?”    
  
Yuri made a farting sound with his lips, waving his pale hands in the air, “I don’t fucking know. I’m hungry as hell, what do you have to eat?”    
  
He got up and wobbled his way passed Otabek to the small kitchen area. Raiding the empty fridge and cabinets until he found a box of half empty cornflakes. This will do, Yuri shoved his hand in the box, stuffing the sugary flakes in his mouth.    
  
“Does your grandpa know you’re here?” Nikolai was rather overprotective of his grandson, Otabek could only imagine how worried the old man was about his wellbeing.    
  
Yuri shook his head, shoveling more flakes in his mouth while the rest fell on the wood floor, “I’ll call him tomorrow and tell him. Fuck, these are good.”    
  
“After you finish eating my breakfast, lunch, and dinner maybe you should get washed up and go to bed.”    
  
“Beka, you really need to learn how to cook. Your cornflake diet is bumming me out.”    
  
The Kazakh could not help but let out a mood-lifting laughter. He knew how to cook, how could he not when he occasionally had to prepare dinner for his siblings when mom and dad worked late. That did not mean he  _ liked _ cooking. Cooking created messes, and quite frankly he was too lazy to clean up the mess.    
  
“What are you doing?” Yuri emerged from the bedroom with the pajamas clinging to his body in the right places. After a night of drinking and a meal of sugar he was tired and wanted to go to bed before he felt like a bigger piece of shit.    
  
He watched as Otabek prepared the couch with a pillow and thin blanket.    
  
“I’m sleeping on the couch, you can have the bed.”    
  
“Fuck no. You’re sleeping with me.”    
  
Yuri reached for the blanket, yanking it off the couch and wrapping it around his body.    
  
“Yura, I don’t think that’s a good idea...”    
  
Sure, they slept together loads of times, they were friends, after all, now, it did not feel right to share the same bed with a drunken Yuri who had a sort of boyfriend who was big enough to rip Otabek a new one. He would rather stay alive, thank you.    
  
Yuri was persistent, not taking no for an answer. The blonde hijacked the blanket, racing off towards the bedroom like a child escaping their bath.    
  
Sigh, Otabek did not want to sleep in the cold now did he.    
  
“If we’re going to share the same bed can you at least move over?”    
  
“What do you say?” Yuri batted his eyelashes, cheeks, and nose flushed with red, showing his current state of intoxication.    
  
“Please?”    
  
He moved over, leaving just enough room for Otabek to slide in. Then he turned off the light and checked the time again.    
  
_ 05:25.  _ _  
_   
At this rate, they were both going to sleep until noon.    
  
“Beka, you smell good.”    
  
They were facing each other on the bed, noses centimeters apart. Even in the dark, with the light from the full moon, Otabek could make out each of Yuri’s highlighted features, following the sliver of the outline of his shoulders rise and fall.    
  
“You’re going to feel like shit when you wake up,” blunt as always, Otabek neither meant that comment to be mean or malicious.    
  
“Can you hold my hair back?”    
  
“Of course.”    
  
“Then I will be okay.”    
  
They fell quiet as they always did. Otabek smelling the scent of alcohol and Yuri’s strawberry scented shampoo. A strange combination, but also one that provided him with comfort. Sure, Yuri could be irresponsible and hotheaded, that is what Otabek loves about him.     
  
“Are you still up?”    
  
Yuri answered with soft snores erupting from his body.    
  
Otabek smiled, happy Yuri was finally getting rest after his night out. Too bad Yuri’s rest came at the expense of his own sleep. Now he was wide awake.    
  
No matter, either way, he was going to be woken up once Yuri got up and all hell broke loose. With this time to himself, he could think of ways to keep the blonde from barfing all over his bathroom floor.    
  
  


...   
  
  


_ “With only three months left until the new figure skating season, we are excited to see what the legendary Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki have to offer as newlyweds and competitors.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Not to mention Russia’s finest Yuri Plisetsky.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Let us not forget about the return of bronze medalist Otabek Altin with his comeback after that rather nasty fall.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Otabek should have retired then and there like he offered anything without falling in the shadows.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ For someone considered the dark horse of figure skating, he always finds a way to leave a lasting impression.”  _ _  
_   
Otabek listened to the podcast with both earbuds in his ears. The time was nearing 11:30. He has been listening to the podcast for the last two hours.    
  
Suddenly, he felt the left side of the bed dip then spring up. Yuri had bolted out of the bed and towards the bathroom where he proceeded to retch his guts into the porcelain bowl.     
  
Otabek followed, taking a knee behind the young Russian to help hold up his hair so no puke would get on it. Yuri’s face glistened with sweat, skin taking on a greenish undertone. Hangovers were a bitch, Otabek knew from experience when he first started drinking. Thankfully with age, he knew how to handle his liquor.    
  
Yuri groaned, feeling his stomach finally subsided with his head disgusting close to the toilet contents. He wanted to die, he really did. He was a shame to Russians everywhere.    
  
“Kill me,” voice hoarse, Yuri was as dramatic as Viktor when sick.    
  
“You know I can’t, Yakov and Lilia would skin me alive if I don’t bring their Russian fairy back.”    
  
Snorting, “they can go fuck themselves. I’m never leaving this bathroom.”    
  
Otabek hummed, twisting long blonde hair into a messy bun. The positives to having sisters were he knew how to do basic hairstyles like buns, braids, anything. Yuri thanked him, falling back to lean on the pale-colored wall.    
  
“I’m hungry.”    
  
“You threw up everything you had with your face in front of your own vomit and you’re thinking of food?”    
  
“Duh, I threw everything up which means there is no food in my stomach,” Yuri accepted the cup of water. Taking a hefty sip to soothe his burning throat.    
  
“You’re one of a kind, Yura.”    
  
“Shut up, let’s get some food.”    
  
“You ate all my cornflakes.” Otabek reminded while making an important mental note to go grocery shopping.    
  
When he felt comfortable enough to stand without toppling over, Yuri carefully hoisted himself up, head still throbbing as his eyes squinted from the sunlight coming through the blinds.    
  
“When are you going to cook for me, Altin?”    
  
Otabek crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe.    
  
“When you stop making me your personal uber driver when you’re drunk at 5 am.”    
  
“How about something realistic?”    
  
He had to think. He said something, though it was meant to come out more playful than how it did, “how about when I win gold at the Grand Prix Finals?” This was one of the moments when their competitiveness came out, reminding them both how they were friends first but competitors second.    
  
Pulling the clean shirt over his head, Yuri did not seem to take his comment as a challenge but more like a promise.    
  
“Then I can’t wait to taste Otabek Altin’s infamous cooking.”   
  
  


...   
  
  


The rest of the day they both decided to take it easy. After having a nice brunch at their favorite cafe, they went to the local rink.    
  
It was nice for them both to be in Moscow. Yuri did not have to go to St. Petersburg to train with his coaches for another couple of weeks, and Otabek arranged a deal with his coach to go to Moscow for a month as long as he uses the time to familiarize himself with the ice before it was time for him to train seriously for the remaining months.    
  
Originally, Otabek came out to Moscow because Yuri invited him. He was able to find a cheap rental apartment for the time being to not be too much of an inconvenience on Nikolai, and they have been having fun together ever since. They both knew once the season starts it was going to feel different. Not friendship wise, because they will always be friends. Only now they did not have the atmosphere of competitors hanging over their heads.    
  
In the past neither could hang out much during the season. Only seeing each other during their downtime, when they snuck out of their hotels, or when they watched each other about to perform. Not to mention both their coaches were rather strict about curfews and rest, and with an overbearing Viktor on top of them.    
  
They were on the floor stretching before putting on their skates. Yuri looking on his phone while in a split (showing off as per usual), with Otabek doing a couple of toe touches and stretching out both knees.    
  
“Oi, do you want to come with me to Hasetsu? Katsudon sent me an invitation.”    
  
“I guess so,” Otabek bent over so his back was perfectly parallel to his legs, “when?”   
  
“For the old fucks Birthday.”    
  
Ah, he is talking about Viktor.    
  
“Does this mean I have to bring a gift? I’m bad at gifts.”    
  
“Let’s buy him one together. Buy him a toupee or something, or oil to moisture his bald spot,” Yuri mused, grinning to himself at his brilliant idea.    
  
Otabek stretched both knees for a final time just to be sure, “since his birthday is on Christmas would we buy him one or two gifts?”    
  
Yuri ignored his question, muttering something about how he should be his damn gift as it is a gift he's agreeing to celebrate his birthday with him. Being with those two meant Otabek had to come by default to be his leveled head.    
  
“What time is your train to St. Petersburg?” Otabek asked for the sake of changing the subject.    
  
“Too fucking early. We need to do something together because I’m hanging out with Vitaly before I leave.”    
  
The Kazakh nodded, not exactly pleased to hear the mention of Vitaly’s name.    
  
“When are you leaving to go back to Kazakhstan?”    
  
“Two days after you. Cheapest flight I could find on a Thursday.”    
  
Yuri stood up, tossing his phone on the bench. That was his way of saying enough talk, he just wanted to skate already. This would be the first time in months they had the rink to themselves and he wanted to enjoy every moment of it without interruption.    
  
He slid out to the middle of the ice, waiting for Otabek to join him.    
  
“Hurry up, I can feel myself wasting away.”    
  
Otabek joined, circling around Yuri’s body without taking his eyes off of him.    
  
“How are you feeling?” Asked Yuri, eyes darting down to the bad knee. He tries not to mention it too much since it is a touchy subject, that does not mean he doesn’t worry about the well-being of his friend. He did not want things to be a spectacle like last time because this year they  _ will _ share the podium together.    
  
“Fine. My knee hasn’t been bothering me too much.”    
  
Yuri took hold of Otabek’s arm, following his movements, “good,” he said.    
  
Green eyes burned holes into dark brown ones. Yuri turned quickly while switching arms, his footing moving gracefully with his hair flowing around him like a trailing sun.    
  
Otabek could feel his cheeks heat up, always breathless when watching Yuri skate, nearly suffocating with Yuri skating this close to him.    
  
“Beka, one of us will win gold this year.”    
  
There was a challenge in Yuri’s eyes, green burning with a red flame of determination.    
  
“I know. It’s going to be me, do you know why?”    
  
“Why?” Yuri watched his perfect toe loop, Otabek skating up close to him so their eyes locked.    
  
“Because my last name means gold. алтын.”    
  
He loved it when he got cocky, it just made Yuri want to work harder. Right now his biggest competition was him and Katsudon. Viktor may be legendary but he was getting old and far from a real threat. If only everyone else saw the fierce nature he saw when Otabek skates. He skated with his heart on his sleeve for the world to see.    
  
The world being Yuri.    
  
Daily Otabek kept pushing forward so he and Yuri could be on the same level and skate together.    
  
Now hand and hand.    
  
Even though they will not skate forever, forever felt far away when they were skating in the now.    
  
When they stopped to take a break, they leaned over the edge with their elbows nearly touching.    
  
Water dripping off his chin, Yuri wiped it with the back of his hand, “if you get hurt again I’m going to break your other knee.”    
  
Otabek slung his towelette around his neck, “I don’t plan on getting hurt again. I’m going to kiss a gold medal.”    
  
“Yeah, you’re going to kiss mine.”    
  
Yuri tossed his empty water bottle aside, hands on his hips while blades glided him back out.    
  
“Let’s go again, your footwork was sloppy as hell!”    
  
  


...   
  
  


“Ugh, stop fucking calling me,” Yuri came out the bathroom with his phone near his ear, bypassing Otabek who was sitting on the couch working on mixes for his free program.    
  
Viktor had called to confirm Yuri’s arrival to St. Petersburg. He could be so annoying, taking his job as a coach too seriously then forgetting he is only coaching Katsudon and not him.    
  
“Don’t pick me up I don’t want to go out to lunch with you two.”    
  
Otabek, who was oblivious to the conversation happening around him, adjusted the dial on his board. Taken aback with a pair of striped socks pushing its way in his lap. Yuri did not acknowledge him, munching on a couple of crackers he found in the kitchen.    
  
“Whatever. I’m 18 I can do whatever the fuck I want.”    
  
Shaking his head, The Kazakh believes he might have made a breakthrough in his process. Playing back the track for the third time, it felt right. This was it.    
  
He removed the bulky headphone from his head, sliding them down so they sat on his shoulders.    
  
“Ugh...” Yuri exasperated, throwing his head back so his long blonde hair was hanging off the chair, practically touching the floor.    
  
Phone shoved in his pocket after the displeasing phone call, he took a couple of strands in between his fingers.    
  
Otabek was not paying attention, as he was too busy typing something on his computer. Possibly title ideas for his music.    
  
“Oi, I want to cut my hair.”    
  
“Why are you telling me this?”    
  
Yuri sat up, “because you’re my friend and I want you to cut it for me, asshole.”    
  
“I thought you were passed your rebellious phase. Let’s not have another welcome to the madness,” Otabek mockingly raised his fingers in the shape of a gun, making a shooting sound with his mouth as Yuri proceeded to flip him off.    
  
“Fuck off, that performance blew everyone out of the water.”    
  
_ Yeah, after they all passed out from shock. _ Otabek shut his laptop.    
  
“I thought you liked your long hair. It makes you look like a princess.”    
  
“Not when everyone keeps comparing it to Viktor. Besides, I want it cut to my shoulders. Only until the season is over.”    
  
“That’s fine and all, but I’m not cutting it.”    
  
Yuri’s lip poked out in a pout. He currently looked like a mix of a kitten and 5-year-old throwing a tantrum.    
  
Otabek could not look away, that face always finding a way to melt his heart. He got off the couch, pushing Yuri’s legs off with a defeated sigh. He will do it if it would get Yuri to stop whining.    
  
“I don’t have proper hair scissors,” was the Kazakh quick disclaimer so he would not be blamed for any sloppy cuts.    
  
Yuri went over to the dining table, taking a seat in the chair, “like I care. Just so you know, I’m going to record this.”    
  
“I’m starting to think you want me to get killed.”    
  
Otabek was referring to Viktor, Lilia, and Yakov. Yuri did not get the reference, opening his phone to his favorite social network, Instagram. With a press of a button, he was live. He could not deprive the fans of an ultra-rare Beka trimming.    
  
“Guess what the fuck I’m doing. I should say we...” the young Russian angled the phone so Otabek prepping for the haircut was in the camera. He gave one of his small waves, squinting to read the comments that were all in uppercase.    
  
He tied Yuri’s hair into a neat ponytail.    
  
“That’s right, Otabek here is going to cut my hair, isn’t that right, Beka?”    
  
“You should mention how I’m completely against this.”    
  
“But you’re still doing it,” Yuri said in a matter-of-fact tone. He saw that Viktor, Katsudon, Phichit, Milia, and some more skaters had joined the chat.    
  
“Alright, I’m doing it,” Otabek raised to show the scissors to the camera.    
  
With a couple of snips cutting as smooth as regular scissors could through the blonde locks, his hand now held the ponytail from the once proud owner of Yuri Plisetsky.    
  
“Maybe we could sell it on eBay,” he joked, passing the hair to Yuri to see.    
  
“Or maybe we could dye it gray and donate it to Viktor.”    
  
Yuri turned to face the camera, “alright, that’s all you, assholes. I hoped you enjoyed that.”    
  
Then, the stream ended. His phone buzzing with the multitude of comments, tweets, and text messages.    
  
“I still have to clean it up,” it felt strange to no longer feel the long hair in his hands, now it was the same length Yuri had it when they first became friends.    
  
His phone dinged.   
  
“It’s from Viktor,” Yuri said.    
  
_ Semi-Dead Viktor: YURIOOOOOO WHYYYYYY???? _ _  
_   
Otabek looked over his shoulder, “what did he say?”    
  
Yuri snorted, a mischievous smile spreading across his lips, “he loves it.”    
  
  


...   
  
  


A helmet was tucked underneath his arm. After a delayed shipment of his bike, it finally arrived within the last two weeks of his stay in Moscow.    
  
Better late than never. Otabek was headed to pick Yuri up from his home so they could go on a cruise through town.    
  
It was more of a last minute decision. Yuri had gone out with Vitaly prior that night, most likely going to another club. Not like Otabek cared, he was not jealous of Vitaly in any way, but he wanted Yuri to be safe.    
  
Knocking on the door, Otabek stepped back to wait for someone to answer.    
  
“Who the hell is it?” Asked a voice from behind the door, followed by sounds of feet pattering across the hardwood floor.    
  
The knob twisted and open, revealing a rather disheveled Yuri at the door. His newly short hair poking out in multiple directions, with smeared make up streaks extending to the edge of his chin.    
  
“If I didn’t know better I would say someone had a great time last night,” Otabek knowingly teased, ignoring the light tug in his chest.    
  
“Shut up, nothing happened.”    
  
“I was hoping you would be dressed,” gesturing to the helmet in his hands, “my bike finally arrived.”    
  
“Why didn’t you text me? Shit, I would have been ready.”    
  
Yuri tugged him inside.    
  
“Ignore the mess. Grandpa is working on a new crafts project.”    
  
“How fun,” commented Otabek as he looked over the bits and pieces of wood lying around on a rubber sheet.    
  
They went to Yuri’s bedroom.    
  
“Easy for you to say, you don’t have to hear the noise,” he scavenged through his closet, draws, piles of clothes on the floor, anything clean or cool to wear.    
  
Otabek took his seat on the bed, watching his friend run around the room like a chicken with its head cut off. Deep down he felt bad for dropping by on short notice, but then again it made up for when he had to babysit a drunken 18-year-old.    
  
“So, where are we heading?” Yuri found a clean black shirt to wear, along with a pair of black jeans. He took the items and headed towards the bathroom.    
  
“No place in particular.”    
  
“How boring.”    
  
“Sorry, is riding a motorcycle with a friend not interesting enough?”    
  
Yuri stuck his tongue out, shrugging on a hoodie and layering a burgundy leather jacket on top to keep warm.    
  
“Do my hair?”    
  
“C’mere,” Otabek sat up, making room for Yuri to sit in front of him.    
  
He started off by braiding one side of his hair.    
  
“Vitaly didn’t like the haircut,” Yuri scrolled through his phone, hiding the slight frown growing on his lips.    
  
“Oh. Do you like it?”    
  
Otabek did not need validation from others that meant nothing to him. Yuri was another story, he wanted him to be happy which was why he did not argue too much when he was approached about giving him a haircut.    
  
Without hesitation, “of course! He was just being a dick. He was on his fourth shot when he told me,” Yuri dismisses the whole thing with a shrug, keeping himself from falling in the touch of Otabek’s hands in his hair.    
  
“Good, that’s all that matters. Finished.”    
  
Yuri peaked in the mirror directly in front of them, face lighting up with a smile wide enough to touch his ears.    
  
“Alright, let’s go!”    
  
Eager to spend a day with his best friend, Yuri nearly left without an important piece of his outfit.    
  
“Yuri?” Otabek coughed into his hand, pointing down at his bare feet, “forgetting something?”    
  
Yuri wiggled his toes, tips of his ears turning pink, “Oi! Stop laughing!”    
  
  


...   
  
  


They were out for the majority of the day, driving past historical sites, all kinds of boutiques, and beautiful pieces of street art.    
  
The best part about driving out was being on the open road. Otabek driving, with Yuri’s arms hugging firmly around his waist. Just like that day in Barcelona when infamous Hero of Kazakhstan came to Russian fairy’s rescue.    
  
“Hey! Let’s stop to get a bite!” Yuri yelled over the wind roughly assaulting their bodies.    
  
Otabek parked the bike in front of a nearby bakery.    
  
“I can get us Pirozhki,” he counted out the change he had in his pocket.    
  
“Okay, I’ll stay on the bike.”    
  
Otabek watched him go into the bakery, removing his helmet to air out his head. Even after years of riding, he would never get used to the helmet hair.    
  
_ Buzz. Buzz.  _ _  
_   
“Hello?” He answered the ringing phone, neglecting to check the caller ID to see who it was.    
  
_ “Otabek, I’m glad I was able to get a hold of you.”  _   
  
The voice sounded like his coach back home in Almaty.    
  
“Is something wrong?” Not trying to sound rude, but it was strange to receive a call from him unexpectedly unless something was wrong.    
  
_ “Look, I don’t know if it will be the best decision to have you skate this year.”  _ _  
_   
  


...   
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated as I love getting feedback to help strengthen my writing. So, what do you think of people always calling Otabek the skating Dark Horse?


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